A Bold Front

Togetherness at the Noems'

I know we’re bordering on Easter, but I have something to get off my chest.

Oops.

Bazooms. I like ‘em as much as the next fellow, or gal, I reckon, but I’ll tell you this: if I’m looking for someone to put in charge of overhauling the Pentagon, I would never choose a man named Tata.

For his sake, as well as the Pentagon’s.

But that’s what President Trump has done.

Anthony J. Tata.

“Actually,” Pentagon people are going to be saying, “we have found good reason to value female generals, Mister, uh . . . Tata.”

And, “Just wanted to be sure you’re kept abreast of the situation, Mister, uh . . . Tata.”

Here’s something else I wouldn’t do:

Stuff cantaloupe-size balloons up under my shirts, adopt a little pout, and pose for photos posted online.

Then too, I would never marry Kristi Noem.

“Bimbofication,” we are told, is what Bryon Noem is into. Urban Dictionary defines bimbofication as “the process of transforming into an airheaded slut, perfectly happy to be used and degraded.”

“Husbandification,” some might call it, if the person is male and married to an important (until recently) politician, whose relationship with her closest adviser is the fruit of speculation.

Or can we call it solidarity? Might not Mr. Noem have been transforming himself into a caricature femme because that’s what his wife had to do, to appeal to President Trump?

“Mar-A-Lago Face,” they call it. Blatant, near-Karadashian plastic surgery. Big old lips and high cheeks, crying out: “This is what I did for you, Sir.” It’s what you’re left with after Trump takes away the Department of Homeland Security, or the Attorney Generalship, or the honor of being engaged to his namesake son.

And into this cauldron steps Tata.

As for Mr. Noem, he is quoted as saying he will address his bimbofication publicly when the time is right. Until then, we’ll speculate. How can we not?

And not just about Mr. Noem. Tata? Are we sure that’s his real name? Isn’t there half a chance he adopted it for posing purposes? Even if it is his real name, he must hate it, from school days. Poor kid.

I know what I would do if I were Byron Noem, I would say:

“Breasts? Oh, please. People got such dirty minds! Those are pecs. Guys got to have prominent pecs today. To keep up with the gals. Hegseth undoubtedly has them. You get ‘em from lifting weights.”